


Hollow voices of the storm

by Kuriake



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Identity, Technology, Werewolves, artistic licence: technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuriake/pseuds/Kuriake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a traveler spends several days at the Old City Sanctuary, Henry finds they have more in common than he initially thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow voices of the storm

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: late 1999 – early 2000. BtVS season 4; 8 years before Sanctuary season 1.  
> This story has not been beta read; all mistakes in it are mine. Heavy use of artistic license when it comes to computers and technology.

**Friday**

The rain had been falling steadily on the streets of Old City for the past few days when the bell of the front door rang. The mechanical buzz made its ways through the late evening lull of the otherwise quiet Sanctuary, setting in motion some of its already sleep-riddled occupants.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Henry muttered as he half-hurriedly made his way across the spacious hall towards his lab. He had been making a final round across the cells and feeding the last of the nocturnal Abnormals before locking the place up and heading for his room.

He turned on a small, overhead light above his computer rather than the big fluorescent ones as not to disturb the sleeping occupants of the cells nearby. "Okay, now what have we here?" he murmured as he sat down on his desk chair and flicked the computer screen to life.

Pulling up the video feed of the front gate intercom revealed a guy, pale and soaked, standing at the entrance, his short hair lying flat against his forehead. He clutched the telephone horn to his ear and seemed to have noticed the activation of the camera, because before Henry had even spoken he looked up at it and said, "I need a place to stay."

'Sorry dude, but we're not exactly a hotel,' was what Henry had wanted to respond, if not for the fact that Magnus had quietly joined him and was now staring intently at the screen.

"Doc?" he asked, switching from watching the screen himself to watching Magnus watch it.

"Let him in," she answered, the authority in her voice enough to make Henry want to swallow his words even as he inadvertently blurted them out.

"You sure? I mean, I hate being stuck outside in the rain as much as much as the next guy, but that doesn't mean we should just—" He fell silent at the sharp glance cast in his direction before continuing, "—let the poor man stand outside which is why I'm opening the gate right now."

"Thank you, Henry," Magnus said, grazing a hand across his shoulder. Making her way outside of the lab, she called, "I will go speak to our stray solicitor."

**Ꮼ**

"Henry, your assistance, please."

A small while had passed in which Henry had finished his rounds and Magnus had disappeared into her office along with the stranger. Henry was on his way to bed and well-deserved sleep when Helen requested him in her office.

Upon his arrival, Magnus smiled. "It will be the last time this night, I promise," she said to him.

The guy, now in less-than-vibrant color instead of monitor black-and-white, was sat before Magnus' desk. He was no longer dripping wet but still quite pale from the looks of it. The way he was slumped in his chair made it look like his jacket was about to swallow him. The duffel bag at this feet clued Henry in to what was going to happen even before Helen told him exactly that.

"Daniel here will be staying with us for a couple of days," she said. "Please escort him to the guest quarters on your way up. I believe there is still a room free in the east wing, is there not?"

Henry couldn't exactly say he was not weary of the crasher, especially since he was apparently being given a regular room instead one of the cells the Sanctuary specialized in. But of course, as always, Magnus had the last word. "Yeah, there should be a couple. Not sure if it's made, though." Henry scratched at his beard. "I don't really want to disturb the Big Guy at this hour."

"That's okay," Daniel said. "Really. Thank you."

"Excellent," said Magnus, "off you go. Goodnight."

**Ꮼ**

"So, you from around here?" Henry asked by way of small talk as he and Daniel made their way through the quiet halls. He knew the answer would very probably be _no_ —otherwise, what would he even be doing here?—but there was no harm in getting a conversation going, right?

"No," Daniel said, and left it at that.

Okay, maybe there was.

"You're passing through?" he tried again.

"Yeah."

"Where're you headed to?"

"Not sure," came the reply, now one whole syllable longer than the first two.

"What, you're aspiring to be the next Jack Kerouac?"

"Something like that."

 _Okay, time for something else_ , Henry thought. If the guy wasn't going to talk, he might as well do the talking himself. _Allow me_.

"I'm Henry, by the way."

"I heard." After a moment or two of silence, he added, "Call me Oz."

Henry gave Oz a quick look-over at the mention of that. Not exactly great and powerful, but then again, who was he to talk? He was barely any taller than Oz and couldn't be much older either, probably only about a year or three. He idly wondered what his _thing_ would be, but the thought was quickly stopped short by the fact that they were headed for the guest quarters rather than the SHU.

As they rounded the corner and came up to the elevator, Oz—surprisingly—commented, "Nice place to live."

Henry latched on to that. "Yeah, it is," he said, "Nice place to work, too. 'Cept for the sometimes odd working hours that is, of course," he grinned, looking at the other man.

"Yeah, sorry," Oz said as the elevator doors rattled open and the two stepped inside.

"Nah, I'm not really a nine-to-five kinda guy anyway." Henry pressed the button of their destined floor and continued, "Even though I could easily be, with my job. 'Have you tried switching it off and on again?'"

"Hm. I was into that for a bit. Am."

"Nine-to-five jobs or wanting to punch people in the face?"

"Tech."

"Cool," Henry said. He hadn't expected that off the guy's look. "I do security mostly." _And that whole bit about weapons we'd better keep quiet for now_ , he thought. _'Security' covers that, right?_ "Although right now I'm working on this new system," Henry continued, "sort of this portable computer so I don't have to run off to my lab the whole time. This place is pretty big and my cross country running is not up to standard."

"So... like a notebook, basically?"

" _Kind_ of, yeah, but smaller. More handy. More..." He held up his hands in front of him in the hopes that would confer the epicness he had in mind. "Anyway, that's not the problem. It has to be a wireless LAN with perfect security that absolutely no one can hack into. I got this prototype working, but..." he trailed off. "And funds. Always funds."

"Common problem," Oz said.

The old elevator halted its ascent with a jerk. “Bed, bed sheets, pillows, cold feet and occasional snoring, this way,” Henry motioned and led Oz through the corridor. They stopped at a door near the corner; Henry pushed it open and looked inside. As he expected, the room was unmade: a bed with a bare mattress stood near the window and everything had a distinctly dusty smell. Oz didn't seem to mind, though, and stepped inside. "Thanks," he said.

"There should be blankets and bed linen in that closet over there," Henry pointed out. He tried to think of other things of importance that Oz should know. "Bathroom's down the hall. Can't miss it. In the morning, if you're hungry, the kitchen is on the ground floor." Unless Magnus had already promised him breakfast in bed of course and Henry was about to hear he was the designated cook.

Luckily, Oz just nodded. Henry stepped outside in the hall and was about to shut the door behind him when a thought occurred.

"Hey, maybe I could show you tomorrow?" Off Oz's look he added, "The prototype. See what you make of it, y'know, as a fellow tech?"

"Sure." The reply wasn't exactly thrilled, but then again, nothing Oz had said throughout their conversation had come anywhere near 'thrilled'. Maybe that was his thing. An inability to get excited, be moved or stirred by anything and everything. An Abnormality of the limbic system. Would explain why Henry was about to close a regular, wooden door with a handle and not typing on a keypad to slam a heavy, metal one shut.

"Cool. See ya then. G'night."

Bed waited for him. A big, comfy bed. If there was anything else happening in the Sanctuary that night, he didn't want to know about it.

**Ꮼ**

**Saturday**

It seemed Henry was not the only one thankful for a good night's sleep: he didn't run into Oz again until three in the afternoon, when the younger man was sitting in the kitchen, spooning the contents of a big bowl of cereal into his mouth.

"Hey, man. Sleep well?" Henry asked as he entered the kitchen.

"Yeah, thanks," Oz said.

Henry took the tablet he was carrying underneath his arm and held it up in front of him, presenting it to Oz. "This is it," he said, only somewhat succeeding in suppressing his glee. He handed over the device to Oz who swallowed the last bit of his cereal.

"Looks good.”

Henry poured himself a cup of the lukewarm coffee that was still in the kettle and sat down at the long kitchen table opposite from Oz. "It's a, ah, touchscreen," he said as Oz flipped the tablet over in his hands.

"Cool."

"Yeah, although I'm thinking of maybe using a pen as a stylus or something. It's more precise. Trust me, you don't wanna give in wrong commands on this thing."

Henry took a sip of his coffee and instantly regretted it, grimacing. "Ugh. Anyway, like I said yesterday, that's not the problem," he said, reaching for the sugar pot.

"Right, security."

"Yeah," Henry said while unloading half of the contents of the pot into his coffee cup. "This baby has to be hooked up to all other computers in the building, wirelessly, and that wireless LAN has to be absolutely inaccessible or it'll be a hole in the fence."

"So what kind of security are we talking about?" Oz asked as he put down the tablet, laying it on the table between them. "Small business, government or Area 51?"

"Heh. Area 51 actually isn't—" He caught himself. "Real. It's not real. But better than any of them, really. Purely for reasons of personal challenge, of course," he added hastily, because nothing strange or secret that needed top-security was going on here, no sir. "It's just... whatever firewall I create, or encryption, or heck, even whitelists, I can hack 'em all."

"Can God create a boulder so heavy that he can't lift it?" Oz said.

"Heh. Yeah, pretty much." As expected, the sugar in Henry's coffee didn't dissolve; the drink was way too cold for that. It formed a big sludge at the bottom of the purple mug, which Henry drained in one gulp, throwing back his head.

Oz looked thoughtful. "Why don't you, instead of hooking up this thing," he gestured to the pad, "to every computer in the building, just hook it up to one? Create the strongest possible wireless security between those two..."

"... And use the security we already have between the rest of 'em?" Henry finished.

"Yeah, use your own computer or whatever as the gate to the fortress."

Henry laughed. "I'm not really sure it works that way, dude, but thanks."

Oz let out a sound that sounded like it might have been a snigger. "Or just use Bluetooth, I don't know."

"The building's way too big for that, but really, thanks."

Though Oz's responses remained short and sparse, Henry found it increasingly relaxing to talk to him. The guy emanated a sense of calm and collectedness; on top of that, he definitely wasn't unfriendly.

And then there was the fact that not many of the Sanctuary's occupants knew much about technology and computers beyond booting up and occasionally checking for e-mail. The most Henry spoke about the subject was usually with the guys over at the computer store in Vancouver when he came looking for new hardware parts. And even those discussions tended to stay superficial: he couldn't risk letting on too much for the sake of the Sanctuary's safety and whatever project he was busy with stayed indoors. Of course, he couldn't tell Oz too much either, but at least he could show him the technology that he had been working on.

"Yeah, it's nice to work in a place so spacious," Henry continued, "but it can be a bit of a drawback at times. And not just when you really have to go to the bathroom and have to run for half a mile just to get there."

"I can imagine."

“'Cause, ah...” Henry had to laugh even before he went on to say, “Well, the other solution I thought of was to build a cage of Faraday around the entire building to keep the signal in, but I don't think the Doc will be very happy when she gets the invoice for that."

Oz smiled, but remained quiet.

"Anyway," Henry said as he drummed his fingers on the table. He stood and picked up the tablet, cradling it underneath his arm. "Thanks for the suggestions. It doesn't hurt to brainstorm, does it?"

"Nah," Oz said. "Unless we're talking literally, of course."

"Ah, but then it's got a different name. Like migraine. Or the effects of absolutely disgusting coffee," he laughed. "I gotta get going. Don't want to risk Magnus chewing me out for filling work hours with idle chat. See you around."

Oz held up his hand in a gesture of goodbye and moved to put his empty bowl in the sink.

**Ꮼ**

**Sunday**

The rain cleared up throughout the next day, although the winter drabness that hung over Old City never entirely left, cushioning it like a grey blanket. The sun did not manage to climb high in the sky before making its descent towards the horizon again. The weather seemed to have an effect on the inside of the Sanctuary as well: it was quiet inside the walls of the building, with much less disturbances and ruckus than normal. Not even the Pradophili in their desert enclosure had made a move to tear each other apart yet.

The stillness had allowed Henry to finish his shift early and he now stood in the guest quarters, knocking on Oz's door.

"Dude, you in there?" he asked when there came no response. There was no sound of movement inside and he pushed the door ajar when he found it was unlocked. A quick glance inside learned that the room was empty; the bed was made and slept in, but there was no sign of its occupant.

"Guess not," he said to himself. "Hey Ash, have you seen that guy who stays here?" he asked the blonde as she passed him. "Kinda looks like Banshee, except with much less noise?"

"I caught a glimpse of him at breakfast," Ashley replied, a little too much mirth in her voice for Henry's liking. "Why?"

"I just want to show him something," Henry said.

Ashley raised an eyebrow.

"A computer! He made some suggestions yesterday and I had the time to work with them."

"Sorry, dude, can't help you. And you're going to have to find him on your own, 'cause I've got homework to do."

"Homework, huh? You're going to burn your answers into the workbook with a white hot gun?"

She winked at him. "Tell mom how hard I'm working for me when you see her? I'll tell that guy you're looking for him if I run into him in return."

Henry scowled, but nevertheless said, "All right, fine. You have a _blast_ with that homework of yours."

**Ꮼ**

Ashley had not run into Oz that evening, she told Henry later as she headed for bed; the Big Guy had gruffly related him he couldn't help, either. It was now near midnight and Henry was lying on top of the blankets on his bed. He had kept his ears open for any signs of people walking through the corridors, the sound of the elevator or bedroom doors nearby opening, but after he heard the Big Guy head for his room at eleven—he was easy to discern by his gait, especially since Henry had heard him do that every evening for the past 15 years—the Sanctuary had been deadly quiet.

It wasn't so much the issue of absolutely wanting to show Oz the improvements he had made—they were small—as it was the curiosity of exactly where he had gone that kept him up. Henry briefly considered knocking on Magnus's office door to ask if perhaps Oz had left already, had taken the back door and made a dash for it without Henry even noticing, but considering the time that might not be the best of ideas. The tablet computer was lying next to him on his nightstand; he reached over and picked up the device, turning it over in his hands. _Access to others' computers through his own_ , he thought. He switched it on. _Might tell me what happened to Oz without having to disturb Magnus._

As the security still wasn't optimal, he probably shouldn't be using this connection yet, but if he would be brief there wouldn't be much harm, he decided. Henry worked the tablet less swiftly than he would have liked ( _yeah, definitely going to use a stylus for that)_ ,accessing his own computer and through that, Magnus's log. Sure enough, there it was: Friday, intake of one Osbourne, D., of Sunnydale, California, USA. _Intake_. That meant he was a patient after all, and not some stray drifter whom Magnus had taken pity upon. The log for Saturday didn't have any mention of a check-out, nor did that of Sunday; Oz should still be around then.

Henry accessed the patient files and browsed the records starting with O until he found _Osbourne_ sandwiched between _Ördög_ and _Otso_. Selecting it brought up the words 'access denied' in red letters, blinking angrily at him.

_Can God create a boulder so heavy he himself can't lift it?_

Apparently not. With a few quick movements of his fingers Henry circumvented the security and accessed the file, which proved to be a meager loot. There wasn't much more info in the secured medical record than there was in Magnus's public log: name, age, origin, date of arrival and—

The word hit him like a punch in the gut before he had even properly finished reading it. _Werewolf_. It screamed out at him, many times more than the blinking red message had. The heavy feeling in his stomach that it created was hard to discern; there was fear, because, obviously, _Jesus_ , but also something that felt like it might be excitement. He might not be the only one after all.

Henry perused the file again. Daniel Osbourne, age 20, of Sunnydale, California, werewolf, to be contained in the SHU. So keypads and secured doors it _did_ turn out to be. There was a cell number provided and Henry hesitated before his next move, his index finger hovering over the button on the screen that had the word 'camera' next to it.

Even though he was completely alone, Henry glanced around briefly before giving the quickest of taps on the touchscreen. A new window opened over the medical file and after several seconds of loading it revealed the cell and something big and black skulking around in it.

 _Is that what I_... the thought welled up inside him, but he was unable to finish it. On the screen, the creature — werewolf — Oz — stalked around the cell, oblivious. If he had noticed the movement of a camera the first time one was trained on him, he definitely didn't notice now. Henry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when Oz walked over to what looked to be a mattress in the corner and lied down on it.

Thoughts whirling inside him, Henry went for the easiest solution he could come up with at that moment: brushing his teeth. And peeing. And folding his clothes very, very meticulously. Hell, his comic books might just need a good alphabetizing again, he thought. After he finished his preparations for the night Henry crawled under the covers; on the screen, Oz appeared to have dozed off as well. With a few taps the camera was turned off, the log and medical files closed and the computer powered down.

Henry pulled the covers up to his chin and tried to get comfortable, even though that was quickly proving to be impossible; he was restless and indecisive, too many thoughts keeping him busy. He just needed a good night's sleep over this to decide what to do, he eventually concluded, and screwed his unwilling eyes shut.

**Ꮼ**

**Monday**

"I'm like you."

Okay, so maybe he should have put more thought into this thing. Like two nights' sleep instead of one. Or like... twelve.

The night had been fitful, with very little sleep and disturbing dreams when he did manage to nod off. Henry had woken up at five that morning, although in this case 'woken up' actually meant more along the lines of 'decided not to lie in bed anymore'. He had stalked around in his room while he imagined Oz stalking the confines of his cell below him in the SHU.

One of the first thoughts he had had was to pretend he hadn't seen anything at all, that he was completely oblivious to anything and everything if he happened to run into Oz during the rest of his stay here, however long or brief that may be. He would show him the tablet and they would talk some more about computers and firewalls and at no point in the conversation would there be any mention of, "Oh yeah, and by the way, I saw you downstairs in a cell the other night, you know, all furry and grrr like the lead in the remake of _Teen Wolf._ Do you want another cup of coffee?"

The second had been to simply avoid Oz at any cost from here on out, locking himself in his lab and checking Magnus's log to see if he had left already. That shouldn't prove to be so difficult – he hadn't seen Oz much at all the previous few days and that was when he had been looking for him.

The third was what he had gone with in the end, was acting out right now. At seven-thirty he had tucked the tablet under his arm, gone downstairs, made two cups of coffee and headed down into the SHU. If anyone would ask him what he was doing there, he would say he was just checking to see if everything was secure—'cause security is important and that's what he's there for, right?—and the second cup of coffee was simply a precaution to keep himself awake because hadn't had much sleep last night and check out the bags under my eyes.

Seeing the wolf in real life had elicited those same feeling as the night before, but even stronger. He had found himself staring while Oz slept on the mattress. Henry had eventually sat down in the corner, cradling the coffee cup between his legs and wondering if maybe he should have gone with a water bowl instead.

Sitting against the wall, he had almost dozed off again when a short while later growls and the sound of claws on cement permeated his drowse. By the time he had fully realized what was going on and had scrambled to his feet to look into the cell—miraculously managing to keep the coffee _inside_ the cup—Oz was human again, lying pale and naked on the mattress, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Oz had stared around the cell blearily, reaching for a t-shirt that had ended up between the mattress and the wall until his eyes had fallen on Henry, which seemingly shocked the sleep out of him with such force that Henry had thought the guy wasn't going to need any more coffee for the rest of the month.

Henry had tried to explain what exactly he was doing there, but it had come out in such a jumble even he didn't understand anymore exactly what track he was on. _Occam's razor_ , he had eventually thought, and out the storm of words that raged in his head he had plucked the most honest, simple explanation to exactly why he was standing there.

Oz, apparently, wouldn't have of it.

"Could be a lot of things," he said. "Guy, tech, geek, short."

Henry wiped off the sweat that had accumulated on his palms on the fabric on his jeans. Maybe Oz didn't think he had seen him before his transformation back? For all he knew, Henry might have just wandered downstairs and found him lying there naked. There was still room for backpedaling.

"Wolf," Henry replied simply. _Room for backpedaling has been deleted from existence_.

Oz didn't respond immediately but continued fishing for his clothes, putting on his pants and standing up to button them. "What are you doing here?" he asked finally.

"I was looking for you last night and, well," he shrugged, "found you." He fleetingly thought about adding _You're it_ to that, but the look on Oz's face made clear that he wasn't really in the mood for anything lighthearted right now.

"Last night," Oz said.

"Yeah, yesterday. You weren't in your room."

"It's winter. The sun sets in the afternoon."

"Oh. Kay...?" Henry frowned. "It's cool that you're up with the current state of astronomy, man, but that's not really the point."

"How could you have come looking for me in the evening?" Oz asked.

"Uh... We have this thing called electricity which illuminates these lamps that we have hanging around...?" Henry said. "It's not like I had to make my way through pitch black corridors while intentionally trying to trip over you."

"Right," Oz said curtly as he finished tying his shoes. "And now you're there."

"Okay, dude, seriously," Henry said exasperated, "could we maybe not have two completely different conversations at the same time without color coding them first?"

Oz let out a laugh, but it wasn't a happy one. It sounded tired and agitated. "You say you're like me," he started slowly, not looking at Henry. "Last night was the full moon. And yet you say you have been looking for me all over the place, all night, while I was locked up in here. Transformed."

"Oh. _Oh_. I don't actually do... _that_."

"You don't lock yourself up." Oz's mouth was little more than a narrow slit now. He sounded beyond agitated at this point, the look in his eyes hard to place, somewhere between angry and sad.

"What? No. I mean, yes, I don't lock myself up, other than occasionally in my room, that is, or the bathroom, though that's for entirely different reasons than—" He shook his head in frustration at himself. "What I meant was I don't actually..." he tried again. The final word, even though only one syllable, was unexpectedly hard to say. He rubbed his neck. "Change."

Oz's eyes flashed up at him sharply. "You don't?"

"Never have, actually. Thankfully." He gestured lamely at the glass wall in front of him. "No stays at hotel o'metal for me. I should probably open up that thing for you now," he added, half to himself and moved towards the keypad.

Oz stood close to him now, facing Henry with only the glass separating them. "How?"

"Just the code. You don't happen to know the combination, by any chance, do y—"

Oz interrupted him. "How do you not change?"

"I take stuff," Henry said, leaving the keypad for what it was. "Medication. It's Magnus's concoction."

In an instant, all the anger seemed to have drained from Oz, only to be replaced with defeat. "She never... She never said anything to me."

"She didn't? Huh. I don't know what to tell you, dude. Maybe you should have mentioned it in your intake?"

"I did. She said there wasn't anything she could do for me besides this." He looked thoughtful. "She didn't even mention _you_."

With a clank a door at the other side of the SHU opened, followed by a distinct shuffling of feet that Henry immediately recognized as Bigfoot's. Both Henry and Oz fell quiet at the sound of the older Abnormal's approach. When he arrived at the cell, Henry could tell Bigfoot was surprised at seeing him there, although he didn't let on. Bigfoot merely grunted at him as he passed him and typed in a 6-number combination on the blue keypad. The cell door clonked open and Oz stepped outside.

Oz nodded his thanks; Bigfoot merely grunted again and left as wordlessly as he came, but not before fixing Henry with a _look_ from the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah," Henry said eventually. "She didn't tell me about you either."

The silence permeated and Henry wasn't sure how to break it, or even if he should. The black Star Wars mug that he had brought along still stood in the corner; Henry walked over and picked it up. "Um. I brought you coffee?" he said, holding it out to Oz, and wished the phrase hadn't sounded as much as a question as it had.

Fists clenched and knuckles white, Oz looked so tightly wound that Henry feared he might start screaming in response. To his relief, though, he merely let out a huff, scratched his forehead and accepted the cup with both hands. Staring into the dark liquid, he asked, "Do you think I could talk to your boss?"

"Yeah," said Henry. "She's probably busy, but— yeah. Yeah, definitely."

Henry led Oz out of the SHU and fleetingly considered if this was the moment one is to put an arm around another person. Instead he said, "I can come with you if you want."

If he was honest, he wasn't entirely expecting nor ungrateful for Oz's response: "Thanks."

**Ꮼ**

Ghostly, colored figures stretched out across the office floor as the sparse morning sun fell through the stained glass windows and into the room. The river outside reflected the dull grey of the half-overcast sky above it, while the traffic along its banks reached the zenith of rush hour.

“I should have expected I would find either of you on my office's doorstep with these exact questions,” Helen said to the two men who had sat down in the large, beige chairs at her desk moments earlier. “And I did. However, I did not think that occasion would come to pass so soon. Not that I would find you in the company of each other.”

There hung a stillness in the room that Henry had come to associate specifically with Magnus's office. Only a few meters below the bustle of the first feeding of the day was in full effect, he knew, but none of it managed to permeate here. Not all of that tranquility had to do with the absence of noise, per se, though – it was in the very atmosphere and Henry had often thought that the Doc herself was the source of it.

Magnus smiled behind her desk. “Henry's curiosity and skill are not to be underestimated, especially not when combined.”

With some force Henry managed to return the smile, but found he could not look her directly in the eye.

“But now that you are here, I will try to answer your questions as factual and honest as I can,” Magnus continued. She placed down the pen that she had been holding in her hands and looked between Henry and Oz. “Firstly, as to your question why I did not simply tell you about each other outright: during our conversation two days ago, Daniel explicitly asked me not to tell anyone else about his abilities, staff or otherwise.” She caught Henry's eye. “A request that, if my memory serves me correctly, a number of years ago you made as well.”

At that, Henry glanced out of the corner of his eye to look at Oz sitting to his right, and saw that he was doing the same. This time it was the smiling that failed, his expression ending up somewhere between an apologetic grin and a grimace.

Magnus went on, “On top of that, the Sanctuary is a medical facility where we exercise doctor-patient confidentiality, rather strictly at that. Which is one of the reasons a number of my patient files are restricted and should be accessible only to me.”

She looked at Henry again, who in turn tried to remember if it was this specific chair that Oz had sat on during his intake. Together with the jacket he had worn it had seemed to want to swallow him and that would _definitely_ be a nice feature right about now. Maybe he should get a jacket. Perhaps ask Bigfoot if he had a spare one. Something that was several sizes too big on him, anyway, and he could disappear in.

“The word 'should' is worthy of note here. Like I said before, I am very well aware of your capabilities with computer technology and security, Henry, especially when you have created these yourself. And they are very much appreciated,” she added. “Nevertheless, I had hoped that seeing certain information of mine is protected would have deterred you from obtaining it... not because of a lack of ability but out of principle.” She paused for a moment before telling him, “I will have a word with you about this.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Henry mumbled and briefly considered secretly switching his chair with a shape-shifting abnormal with very large teeth.

Oz had remained quiet throughout, leaning back in his chair, his hands on the armrests, eyes trained on Magnus.

“Thirdly, there is another reason I deterred from introducing you to each other more elaborately than I did. While I can only imagine how exciting it must have been for you, Henry, to come across someone of your own kind, I am afraid this is actually not the case.”

A frown crossed Oz's features and, beating Henry to it, asked, “What do you mean?”

“While you have acquired your abilities during your lifetime, Henry was born with them. They are part of his genetic make-up. You might have actually noticed the distinction yourself, Henry,” she said, looking back at him. “As you saw, Daniel's file uses the term 'werewolf', while yours has―”

“Class 9 hyper-accelerated protean life form, yeah.”

Oz looked as if Henry had just described himself as an Executive Sanitation Custodian and Engineer while mopping goo off the bathroom floor.

“More importantly,” Magnus continued, once again addressing Oz, “because they are part of his genetic make-up, they can be affected by physical means, in this case medication. You're familiar with Diazepam?”

“It's a, ah, tranquilizer. Valium?”

“Exactly. It works as a depressant of the nervous system. This, along with the other drugs prescribed, affects the brain and the hormones it secretes. For Henry this works specifically because his abilities are directly controlled and brought on by the brain. Yours, on the other hand, are not.”

“No,” Oz replied, his voice sullen. “The moon.”

Several words and phrases of earlier conversations made a distinct _click_ in Henry's head and without meaning to he blurted, “ _Oh._ ” Two faces turned to look at him and he tried to explain: “I just got the, ah... astrology... thing,” voice lowering with each syllable, wondering how the hell he could've missed _that_ bit. Expectation bias? Selective perception? Or just stupid?

“Yes,” Magnus said. Henry wasn't sure if she was confirming his stupidity (maybe she was psychic but never told him? Oh, great) or simply ignoring him altogether and replying to Oz instead. It seemed the case was the latter, as she addressed Oz—Henry was glad the spotlights were off of him—and continued, “Consequently, the medication that works for him very like has little effect on you, if it even has any effect at all. Moreover, even if it did, it wouldn't be a permanent solution.”

Oz frowned. “How so?”

“The medication suppresses the change by blocking the release of chemicals in the brain. But it cannot suppress them entirely without doing damage, as hormones play a crucial role in the functioning of the body, as I'm sure you know. This means that the drugs can only provide an interim, prolonging the phase prior to the actual change.”

The break from the spotlights proved to be a short respite: “Henry knows this.”

It was true. He knew this, even though he very much rather just forget. It was long before, when he was just a kid, that he and Magnus had had a long conversation beyond the usual, short rundown of exactly what was going to happen in the then-faraway future. The instigator had been another conversation several days before that, when the Big Guy was bringing him to bed. It had been late—video games and little Ashley had kept him busy—and the Abnormal had told him to hurry up, brush his teeth and get changed. Though it wasn't what the Big Guy had meant, Henry had taken that opportunity to tell the him he really didn't mind if he would change like Magnus said he would at some point, because then he would be just like him and maybe he could even be his real dad.

Bigfoot had mostly kept quiet throughout Henry's enthusiastic rant, merely voicing some grunts, but when Henry was properly tucked he had said, “Perhaps.”

Somewhere in his speech had even been the proposal of taking the Big Guy with him to the arcade hall downtown and he wouldn't have to wear that black hoodie to hide in. They would be just the same and people wouldn't think the Big Guy was weird anymore, because there would be two of them...

Henry shook his head in an attempt to clear it. While his ultimate 'bad news' may very well still be years away from now, next to him Oz was being told he could not outrun his for even a month.

“It hurts to say, but there is very little we can for you except provide you the arrangements we agreed upon before. But other than that, you will have to find your own system for dealing with this. You are, of course, welcome to use our facilities whenever you may want or need them.”

The look of defeat and fatigue that had crept up on Oz's features down in the SHU were back in full swing again. His eyes were heavy-lidded; Henry couldn't tell if he was thinking how to respond to Magnus' explanation or if he was simply too weary to do so.

After a very short round of internal consideration, he decided to step in – it may be the least he could do for the guy. “Why the SHU, though?” he asked Magnus. “I mean, isn't that kinda overkill? At least you could've given him a nice, grassy cell with some trees in it or something if you're gonna let him stay with us.”

The unexpected answer came from next to him: “I requested it.”

“Why? We have really nice ones. Not saying the Hilton would want them, but...”

“Didn't want to pose any kind of danger,” Oz said, a wry smile on his face.

“Okay, yeah, I guess I can understand that.”

Oz kept quiet except for that much-saying smile.

“You'll stay with us for one more night, yes?” Magnus asked.

“Yeah. I want to be on the road tomorrow morning.”

“Now, when I say we're not exactly the Hilton...” Henry said, grinning in an attempt to play it blasé.

“Tonight's the last night of the full moon,” Oz said. “I need to keep going. See if I can find an answer somewhere else.”

“Last night of the full moon? There's two nights?”

“Three.”

“Oh. Damn.”

“Yeah,” Oz said. He nodded his thanks to Magnus, who smiled in return, and stood up.

“I gotta go prepare. Pack my things, rest for a bit. Maybe get my van filled.”

“Hey, if I can help you with anything,” Henry said as he followed Oz outside into the hall.

“I don't have much to pack, really,” Oz said, almost apologetic. “And I saw a gas station on my way over here.” He looked thoughtful for moment before saying, “Though I guess there is one thing.”

**Ꮼ**

Later that day, Henry sat in the same corner that he had left less than ten hours before. Ten hours certainly wasn't a lot of time, he decided, especially not if was all the time you got in one day before having to lock yourself away again. Robbed out of fourteen. Less than a hundredth of a percent of the twenty-and-a-bit years he had had so far. Perspective, really.

On the other side of the glass Oz was sitting next to him, leaning against that same wall.

"I probably shouldn't have come barging in like that this morning," Henry said. "I was just... happy, I guess, at the possibility that – that I wasn't the only one anymore."

"That's okay," Oz said. "I get it. Though a couple more minutes would've been nice."

With a short laugh that echoed around the empty room, Henry said, "Yeah, sorry 'bout that." He put his hand through his hair and shrugged against the wall, cold against his back. "Too bad it didn't turn out to be that way, though, you know?"

Oz turned his head to look at him. "But you're not really alone, though, are you?" he asked.

Henry looked back, half expecting him to go on about Magnus and the Big Guy and Ashley and the rest of the Abnormals he took care of. That was all well and true and he was grateful for them, but—and he didn't really want to admit it—it did somewhat pale in comparison to the possibility of actual bloodlines. Family.

"I mean, you were born as a hyper-accelerated..."

"Protean life form, class 9," Henry finished, smiling.

" _That_. Means your parents must be like you, too, right? Or at least one of 'em."

"I never knew my parents," Henry said. At Oz's frown he explained, "I was a foundling. Magnus took me in when I was a kid. I don't remember them."

Oz looked back at the grey wall in front of him. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"'S okay. I have a good life over here, you know." Not wanting for the conversation to turn into a complete downer, he asked, "How about you? You have people waiting for you back home? Family, friends?"

That seemed to elicit some response, because the smallest of smiles played across Oz's lips. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Why don't you go back to them?"

"Can't. Not yet."

Remembering their conversation with Magnus earlier that day, he asked, “Til you find a way of dealing, you mean?”

“Yeah. Stuff happened, and...” Oz fell quiet for a moment before simply stating, “It's not safe.”

Henry found it hard to come up with a good response to that. He drew up his knees to his chest, while next to him Oz pulled off his shirt over his head and put it on top of the sneakers that he had taken off earlier.

"You want me to hang on to those for you?" Henry asked. The cell door had been closed and locked earlier and the cell itself lacked a slot big enough to put anything through. Still, there should be some time left to take care of things, he thought, especially if all it involved was typing in the code on the keypad—which this time he _did_ know—and closing the door behind him again afterwards.

But Oz merely shook his head and said, "No, that's fine."

His chest was a shade even paler than the skin of his arms and face was, with an assortment of freckles scattered across his shoulders and, Henry noticed now that had a view from up close, a number of faded scratch marks across his stomach and chest.

"Another difference between you and me," Henry said in an attempt to lighten the mood, "At least you got some badass scars to show for your troubles. I don't even get those. Do girls really dig those as much as they say they do?"

The attempt had apparently failed—rather badly at that—because Oz didn't respond, didn't even look at him, but instead kept his gaze fixed on the stone wall in front of him. His breathing had become labored and he crossed his arms over his knees, leaning his forehead against them.

"Dude, you okay?" Henry asked, immediately wanting to apologize rather badly for any more bad jokes that would inadvertently get past his lips.

"Fine," Oz breathed, although he really didn't sound fine. He sounded as if he had just run a marathon and was now well underway towards hyperventilation.

"Really? 'Cause from this side you don't seem f—"

The sentence was abruptly cut off as Henry scrambled to his feet when he saw Oz clutch his stomach and fall on his side, grimacing.

Unconsciously Henry took several steps backwards; Oz was lying with his back turned towards him, shuddering on the on the concrete floor, his breathing getting more growling mixed in with each passing gasp. Dark, matted hair started to appear on his neck and making its way down his spine, from there on out spreading like an oil spill across his back and the rest of his body. Pushing up on his hands and knees—or maybe paws and knees at this point, Henry wasn't sure—he stretched, spine curving, feet lengthening, tail growing.

Henry's back met the wall on the other side of the room much sooner than expected. It wasn't the fear that he was going to be killed, or mauled, or bitten—the SHU was way too secure for that—but something much deeper than that. He had known this was coming, obviously, but to actually see it _happen_...

He drew in two deep breaths as any trace of humanity vanished from the growls coming from the creature before him. Oz was stooped low on the cage floor, his back still turned on Henry. Though at the other side of the room, Henry could see the heaving of Oz's chest had started to subside. That was, until he lifted up his head and now _Oz_ was the one to draw in several deep breaths.

 _Keep. Very. Still_ , Henry though, holding his breath. _Overclocking on Metal Gear Solid: very useful. Thank you, Hideo Kojima._

His imaginary cardboard box-disguise failed miserably when Oz whipped around with a fury, snarled with his black eyes trained on Henry and launched himself at the glass wall. The werewolf thunked off of it, but didn't seem to let that withstand him: he raised himself up on his hind legs, leaning his weight against the barrier and growled with such intensity that made it clear Henry's intestines would no longer be inside him if Magnus had saved on bullet-proof glass.

Henry closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. This might still be years away from him. Decades. The change that Magnus had said would incontrovertibly happen at some point might not come until he was old and senile. He had to laugh at the mental image of a HAP in diapers, running amok in an old folks' home, the orderlies desperately trying to contain it. Damn his brain.

“Okay dude,” he said, taking a cautious step forward. It was met by nothing but more growing and the sound of nails on glass. “Seriously, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

He placed his feet firmly on the ground in a stance that hopefully conveyed 'confidence' and sighed. “Now, I promised I'd help you, so that's what I'm going to do, whether you like it or not.”

At the flash of several large canines he asked, “That would be a 'no, I don't', right?”

Henry walked over to a small cardboard box that stood to the side of the room, trying to ignore the eyes trained on him combined with the incessant growing, but keeping the werewolf in his peripheral vision nonetheless. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said to himself.

The box that had previously been used to ship several spare computer parts—the return address and a large sticker with the word 'fragile' were still on it—wasn't heavy, but its contents all the more useful. Or so he hoped.

“Okay, so I pulled these from the top shelf of the library,” Henry said, folding open the flaps, “and I think Magnus may have bought them on first publication, so they should be pretty long winding and full of old-fashioned words.”

He took the stack of paper out of the box and glanced over the covers of the Penny Dreadfuls. “Do you really think she paid a penny for them? Pretty sure they're a bit more worth than that nowadays.”

Looking around the room, he realized he should have brought a chair or something with him downstairs. Especially since the corner near the glass wasn't as attractive a place to sit anymore. Not that it had ever been a first-rate seat, but its appeal had definitely diminished in the past few minutes.

Henry shrugged, flattened the now-empty box and put it on the floor, a good few meters away from the glass barrier. “Okay, so,” he said, sitting down on the cardboard and opening the issue with 'No. I' written above a dark illustration. “I hope you'll like it. It's sort of a theme-thing.”

Oz had begun to pace in tight circles along the glass; the growling still hadn't subsided. Henry seriously wondered how he was going to make himself understandable through it all. Then again, he had done this with Ashley plenty of times when she was younger, and she had never exactly been the quietest either, even then. Still, he hoped it would be as Oz had said it was. “Only one way to find out,” he said and cleared his throat.

"It was the month of January, 1516. The night was dark and tempestuous ‒ the thunder growled around ‒ the lightning flashed at short intervals ‒ and the wind swept furiously along, in sudden fitful gusts," Henry began. “Told ya it would be old-fashioned,” he murmured to himself.

"The streams of the great Black Forest of Germany bubbled in playful melody no more, but rushed on with a deafening din, mingling their torrent-roar with the wild creaking of the huge oaks, the rustling of the firs, the howling of the affrighted wolves, and the hollow voices of the storm."

**Ꮼ**

**Tuesday**

“You sure picked a good day to hit the road again.”

“Yeah, no chance of hydroplaning,” Oz said as he followed Henry across the stone path through the Sanctuary’s vast garden.

The clear blue sky above promised nothing but sun for the rest of the morning; the weather forecast had extended that guarantee to the rest of the day. The air was still a little chilly but wonderfully fresh as Henry breathed in deeply.

“I hope it stays that way in whatever direction you're going,” he said.

“Me too. We’ll see.”

“And rush hour is just about to be finished too,” he continued, “so you should be able to make a quick getaway out of the here. Not that I want to kick you out, of course.”

“Good,” Oz said simply—possibly referring to either statement—as they came up to his van parked near the front gate. He fished the key out of the pocket of his jeans and unlocked the sliding door at the side.

Henry let his hand glide across the vehicle’s metal for a moment. “Nice wheels,” he said. “We’ve got one just like it. Mostly use it for retrievals.”

Oz nodded. “They’re good when you need bit of space to transport things.”

“Yeah, you might just get cramped with all that stuff you’re bringing along,” Henry said, eyeing the single duffel bag Oz threw into the otherwise empty back. The walls of the van were covered with an assortment of stickers, some of the names Henry recognized as bands.

“Mostly moved equipment with it,” Oz said as he slid the door shut again. “Instruments.”

Henry asked, “You’re a roadie?” A very poignant eyebrow was raised that made him rectify his words. “Please mentally replace ‘roadie’ with ‘in a band’ in that last sentence.”

“Yeah,” Oz confirmed.

“Let me guess,” Henry said. _Definitely not vocals,_ he though, _way too calm for drums…_ “Bass?”

“Guitar,” Oz corrected him. “I own a bass, though.”

“Sweet.”

Oz smiled and unlocked the door at the van’s driver side. Pulling himself up by the steering wheel, he stuck the key into the contact before hopping back out again, leaving the door ajar. He leant against the van’s side. “Thanks for the help last night,” he said to Henry. “I appreciate it. Will help me get mileage without having to worry about nodding off behind the wheel.”

“You're welcome, dude. I'm glad it worked. I can't say I really did it before – I mean, I read to Ashley when she was younger, but...”

Oz smiled in understanding. “My friends used to read to me. I think some may have even passed several English literature quizzes because of it.”

“Yeahhh,” Henry said, drawling out the world, “I can see how that works.”

“By the way.” Oz cocked his head. “I meant to ask. You never told me why you were looking for me the other night.”

“Oh. Right! Now that you mention it...” Henry said, scratching his neck. “Actually, it wasn't anything spectacular. I wanted to show you something on the tablet, but in hindsight... _Eh_.” He shrugged.

“I was thinking about that, actually,” Oz said. He dragged a finger across his jaw on which red stubble glowed in the early morning sun. “Something Helen said. About creating your own system? Maybe you should do that, too.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed, thinking he understood what he meant. “You mean like an esolang?”

“Yeah. Instead of trying to make a common program unhackable, create something entirely from scratch. Something no one can get through. Or even get.”

“To out-weird Malbolge. That… is actually quite an idea.” A smile crept up Henry’s features. “You know, I occasionally play around with that. Even came halfway through deciphering Befunge.”

“Might just help keep everything safe. And not just that wireless connection. Thinking of which...”

In his mind Henry was already coming up with ways of compiling programming languages based on MIDI files when Oz went on, “You don’t need a cage of Faraday to block out signals, I think. There are other ways of creating a shield against electromagnetic signals.”

“Yeah, I thought about that,” Henry said, wrinkling his nose. “But funds are probably a problem, like I said before.”

“Doesn’t have to be. Maybe you should go talk to your boss. I’m pretty sure you can make it work.”

“Thanks,” Henry said, grateful for the compliment, before stating: “You too.”

Oz smiled at that, but kept his eyes downcast.

“So…” Henry began. He held out his hand. “What do we say here? May the Force be with you? Or to boldly go?”

Oz shook the offered hand; Henry revised his words and instead said, “Nah. I just hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Now the younger man echoed Henry’s words: “You too.” With that, he opened the driver’s door and took seat behind the wheel. He turned down the window while Henry moved to open the heavy front gate.

As the van rolled through the stone arch, Henry held up his hand in a gesture of goodbye. In response, Oz’s hand stuck out the driver’s window before the van turned right onto the road and disappeared in the traffic.

Henry pushed the gate closed again, the two sides locking together with a _klonk_ , and started his way back towards the building.

_Now, about that shield…_

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: nothing you recognize is mine and no profit is made from this story (hopefully just a bit of fun). Oz and Sunnydale are Joss Whedon's creation; Henry, Magnus, the Big Guy, Ashley and the Sanctuary belong to Damian Kindler. Banshee is owned by Marvel, Metal Gear Solid by Hideo Kojima. 'To boldly go' and 'May the Force be with you' are of course from Star Trek and Star Wars respectively, created by Gene Roddenberry and George Lucas. Information about [Malbolge](http://www.esolangs.org/wiki/Malbolge) and [Befunge](http://www.esolangs.org/wiki/Befunge). The story Henry reads is the opening of "Wagner the Wehr-wolf" by George W.M. Reynolds (1814-1879). Its copyright has expired and the full text can be found online.


End file.
